


Finders, Keepers, and Every Schmuck In-between

by hanktalkin



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassination, Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Cereal, Friends to Lovers, Grocery Shopping, M/M, Meet-Cute, Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, Near Death Experiences, Smissmas, Smoking, Touch-Starved, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-11 21:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12944760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanktalkin/pseuds/hanktalkin
Summary: “It’s always in the last place you look” is such a inane saying. It’d be quite foolish too keep looking for something after you’d already found it, wouldn’t it?





	1. Finding

The Soldier didn’t know where the hell he’d ended up. After his flight had been canceled, the airline had given him a “stipend” and “their deepest apologies” and told him to fuck off. He’d taken a bus, then another bus, and another bus until he was in what could unequivocally be called the middle of nowhere.

At least there was a bar here. Soldier used the weird foreign money to buy himself a beer.

The fact that he was lost was no exaggeration either. He didn’t even know what _country_ he was in right now (Iceland or England or some shit like that), let alone where to find the hotel room he knew he was supposed to get. What he did know was that no one here spoke American, although if Soldier listened hard enough he could pick out bits and phrases of familiarity under the ridiculous accents. Better than German, at least.

Despite that, the bar still made him twitchy, even with the beer in front of him to calm his nerves. It smelled of pine, probably from the green branches that hung everywhere in the bar. (On closer inspection, they had little sticks of peppermint hung neatly in their boughs.) That didn’t overpower the smell of booze, or the drunken hollering of patrons crowding the lone TV. The chosen entertainment looked to be a soccer game, and Soldier couldn’t care less.

So, combined with the language, the shouting, and the fact that he was in a crowd of people he wasn’t supposed to kill, the Solider understandably tense. It wasn’t even a surprise when an accidental shove from his left was met with one hard, reflexive punch.

The chaos was instant. Soldier wasn’t even off his stool when the man that had bumped into him was hitting him back, prompting other patrons to be onlookers no longer. Soldier didn’t hesitate of course. There wasn’t even a thought in his mind as he flew to action, throwing himself back into battle just like he’d been doing for the past however-many years.

He dodged, a fist came from somewhere to his left. A man raised a bar stool over his head and Soldier realized that it wasn’t twelve-on-one like he’d concluded a second ago. The fight had turned into a free-for-all—the spectators in front of the TV now with a much more interesting show to watch.

The bar brawl raged on. There was a cacophony of noise, all shouting and whooping mixing with the Soldier’s own battle cry. It was too wild and visceral, the thought to pull out his shovel for added advantage never even crossed his mind. The whole thing was one gigantic snowball until the bartender got up and fired a shotgun into the ceiling.

The brawl froze, one pair with hands on each other’s throats and fists raised mid-punch. Another man had a chair over his head, poised to bring it down on a man biting his ankle. They all looked at the bartender, now standing on top of the bar.

“Alright you godless neds!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, although to Soldier’s untrained ears it sounded like _aight ye godded nehds_. “You’re all going to own your bike in the next thirty seconds or you’re never going to see the inside of this bar again!”

Soldier didn’t know what that meant, but he could guess.

When no one moved for the first second, the bartender continued, “The polis are on their way, and you better hope they get to you first before I do.” He cocked his shotgun for emphasis.

The offending members hesitated, then quickly began to untangle themselves. Soldier didn’t fear the police, but he didn’t want to be chased out of town either, not when he still had hotel to find. Unhurriedly, he let go of the man he’d been beating into the bar and walked toward the door.

In the alleyway, Soldier saw the others break into a run. He stood and watched them, the intense energy that had rocked through the bar now manifesting in a series of whoops as the fighters ran for their lives. They laughed as they went, and Soldier figured whatever sort of people started a bar fight at the drop of a hat would find some more fun to get into before the night was through.

“That was one helluva rammy,” a voice beside the Soldier said approvingly.

He turned with a start, thinking he was alone in his insouciance, but he was mistaken. Next to him, watching the hooligans run, was a young man grinning cheerfully.

“I should thank you,” he continued, fixing his smirk on Soldier.

“Thank me?” As Soldier looked at him, he could now clearly tell this was the one he’d punched at the beginning, the man who’d bumped into Soldier and started off the whole thing. He was just a kid really, dark skinned an short haired, a blank beanie covering most of his head. With a start, Soldier realized he was missing an eye, and felt a twitch of concern until he realized the tissue around the socket was old and scarred over.

“That’s the most exciting thing to happen to Ullapool in _months_ ,” the kid said around a broken lip, one that was only aggravated by his insistence on smiling.

“Ullapool?” Is that where he was? He could have sworn it ended in a _land_.

“Aye,” the kid said. “Let me guess, you were trying to head somewhere different, and ended up in this sinkhole of dreams?”

“That about covers it, yeah,” Soldier said, and it felt so weird to just…talk. He didn’t even know if he could do that anymore after Germany. “My flight was canceled. They gave me money to stay here until I can get new one.”

“Going back to America?” Soldier’s former punching bag said with a puff of his chest. “Don’t be surprised I could tell, you’re accent’s louder than drunkard’s fart.”

“I do not have an accent. You have an accent.”

The kid burst out laughing. He doubled over, chuckling like Soldier had said the funniest thing in the world. Soldier didn’t get why, he’d just been telling the truth.

When he stood up, the kid wiped a tear from his only eye. “Or lordy you’re a riot mate. I like you. But we should go, Cailean wasn’t kidding about the polis.”

The younger man walked briskly away and Soldier got the impression he was expecting Soldier to follow. Looking over his shoulder, Soldier cast an eye around the deserted street, not able to tell if there were faint sirens on the cold wind or if that was just his imagination. He jogged after the kid.

“I’d offer to buy you a drink,” he heard the other man call in front of him. “But that’s really the only good bar in town, unless you like drinking passable horse piss.”

They walked down the few narrow streets in increasing night, wet snow landing on the cobbles in clumps and melting a second later. Soldier pulled on his winter jacket, warm and free of holes after he’d commandeered it off a defeated enemy a year ago. His old one had been falling apart, like his boots did every now and again when he couldn’t find anyone with the same size. This Ullapool cold couldn’t hold a frosty candle to the winters he was used to.

“Don’t get me wrong,” the kid was still saying, “Ullapool is nice. It’s safe, it’s home. But it’s also dull as shite.” Soldier had stepped even with him now, and was able to watch his Adam’s apple bob as he laughed at his own attempt at a joke. After he was done tossing his head back, he tilted it at Soldier. “Sorry you got stuck here. Sucks tae be away from home on Smissmas.”

“It’s Smissmas?” Soldier asked, blinking.

“Of course it is!” The younger man said in shock. “It’s Smissmas Eve! Don’t tell me you didn’t notice?”

Well, that explained all the peppermint. He didn’t know about the plants though; what sort of backwards country uses pine needles as decorations instead of tinsel?

Soldier frowned. “I’ve been deployed in Germany, killing Nazi sonuvabitches and doing my goddamned American duty. Time moves differently when there’s a war to win, son.”

“…Didn’t the war end four years ago?” the kid said, raising his eyebrow.

“Yeah. If you’re a quitter.”

The look the other man was giving him made Soldier feel strange all over. It was the feeling he got when the airline had raised their eyes at him, and the Red Cross medic that had told Soldier the news. It wasn’t something he was used to: having to talk with people again, to explain to civilians about the cruel reality of war. Being looked at just made Soldier feel a sadness in his stomach he couldn’t quite place.

“I’m going then,” he said suddenly, planning to escape from this social interaction. “Need to find a hotel for the night.”

“Wait,” the kid said and grabbed Soldier’s arm. He almost received another punch in the face for it, and Soldier only barely held back the reflex on his arm. The kid put up both his hand. “Ah! Jeez, sorry. Bloody Christ.”

“Sorry,” Soldier said, dropping his arm. “Just don’t…don’t touch me.”

“Nah, you’re fine mate. I was just going to say that no one should spend Smissmas alone. You could come by my family’s place, if you like.”

They’d stopped outside a quiet barbershop, closed and dark for the holiday. Soldier raised an eyebrow under his helmet. “I don’t even know you son. You’re just going to invite a stranger into your home because he kicked your ass in a bar brawl?”

“You must’ve knocked your head mate, because I’m pretty sure _I_ was winning that little duel,” the kid said confidently. His cockiness was oddly charming, and it didn’t surprise Soldier when he added, “but fine then. What’s your name?”

Soldier opened his mouth. He closed it. Then he opened it again. “Jane Doe,” he said finally, breath a white mist in the night.

“Nice to meet you Jane. My name’s Tavish DeGroot.” Tavish extended his hand, which Jane managed to shake briefly without flinching. “There, now we’re no longer strangers.”

“Tavish…” Jane said, trying it out. “That’s a bizarre fucking name, private.”

Tavish froze a good solid second before breaking into laughter once again. “ _My_ name? Is bizarre? Hoo that’s bloody rich, I knew I’d picked a good one with you.” Grinning, Tavish began walking north, smiling merrily over his shoulder. “Now come on before the cold eats your nose off.”

And, well, Jane didn’t really know what to do. But when Tavish had said he’d picked a good one, the sadness in Jane’s stomach had lessened just a little.

So he fell in step and made his way through the muddy snow.

It took time to get wherever the hell they were going. The minutes ticked by, the air thicker as more flakes came down and the building got further and further apart. Jane thought maybe he shouldn’t following a man he just met to an unknown location in a foreign country, but couldn’t bring himself to be worried. A Soldier doesn’t fear civilians, no matter how remotely they live. Besides, he still had shovel tucked safely in the back of his coat.

“We better hurry, my Mum will blow a fuse if I’m late for dinner,” Tavish said, breaking the silence between them.

“You still live with your parents?” Jane asked, amazed. He’d assumed he only had a half a decade on the kid, but if he was just a teenager… “How old _are_ you?”

“I’m twenty,” Tavish huffed defensively. “And don’t _you_ get on me about moving out. I get enough of that as it is.”

Twenty. Okay so that put him…six years younger than Jane? Seven? Trying to do the math wasn’t helped when Jane couldn’t remember how old he actually was, or even his own birthday.

They arrived at what Jane could only assume was their destination. It was a humble little cottage, but the outside was well cared for, something Jane could tell even under a layer of snow. It reminded him of the abandoned homes he’d occasionally take shelter in, one’s that had been evacuated or too close to the fighting, and offered blissful relief from another night in a tree. Sometimes they even had blankets.

The cottage already had Jane looking at if fondly when Tavish unlocked the door and let him into its warm embrace. “Mum, Da, I’m back! And I brought a kindred soul home for the holidays!”

“Tavish Finnegan DeGroot where the bloody hell have you been?” a sharp female voice responded. Jane didn’t have time to prepare himself before a woman in her late forties was sweeping into the room. “What sort of son leaves his family on _Smissmas Eve_ to go drinking?”

Her face was stern, her mouth hung lower on her face as though sagging into a permanent frown. To Jane’s puzzlement, she was wearing sunglasses inside the house, and her walk was stilting even with all its speed.

“You said it was fine!” Tavish insisted. “You said it was fine as long as I was back by six!”

“Aye and it’s six-thirty you negligent little swick,” she huffed.

Tavish turned his gaze through the cozy living room to the large grandfather clock ticking dutifully against the wall. Sure enough, it was six-thirty, and Tavish looked back at his mother sheepishly.

“Sorry mum. I lost track of the time. There was a big fight down at The Fox-”

“And he got into a fight!” Mrs. DeGroot said, throwing up her hands. It was then that Jane noticed a cane in her hand, and finally managed to put the pieces together. “Tell me you at least got paid for beating on a couple of steaming slugs?”

“Er, no…it was just a friendly tussle you know…”

“Tavish? That you?” another voice called from what smelled like the kitchen. This one was male, and Jane could only assume it was Tavish’s father when he entered the living room. The family resemblance was easy, but the fact that the man was also wearing sunglasses made Jane balk. Was _everyone_ in this house blind?

“Merry Smissmas Da,” Tavish said quickly. “I’m back now, and _I_ _brought a guest_.” He said the last part through his teeth, trying to draw the attention to Jane.

It worked, and Tavish’s mother made a _pah_ noise in response. “He’s bringing home strays again. Rabbie, talk to your boy, tell him to get it together instead of boozing his life away with every ragtag band he takes a liking too.” She began walking out the way Mr. DeGroot came.

“She’s right, you know,” Mr. DeGroot said, patting Tavish on the side of the head. “If you have time to go drinking, you have time to fit in another job.” Then he frowned, not liking what he was feeling under his hand. “Tavish? Did you go out tonight without your eyepatch on?”

Tavish pushed his father’s hand away. “I forgot it,” he mumbled.

“Tavish, you can’t do that,” Mr. DeGroot said with concern. “What if it gets infected?”

“It’s over a decade old Da, it’s not going to get infected,” Tavish complained. Jane wondered if Tavish was regretting bringing home a guest after all.

Mr. DeGroot grimaced a moment longer, but didn’t have any more to say on the subject. Instead, he turned his attention to Jane for the first time. “So, who might you be that my boy has brought us this time?”

“Uh…Jane,” Jane said. And then, because it seemed the right thing, added, “sir.”

Chuckling, Mr. DeGroot said, “well alright then. There’s all sorts coming through these days.”

“Jane’s a Soldier,” Tavish said enthusiastically. “He’s going home after fighting in Germany.

“Ah, the war huh?” Mr. DeGroot said, with the first trace of approval in his voice. “I would have gone but.” He tapped his glasses decidedly.

 _If you truly wanted to fight that wouldn’t have stopped you_ , Jane thought, but then realized that would be rude to say aloud. He just nodded, forgetting Mr. DeGroot couldn’t see him.

“So, what were you up to after the war, then?” Mr. DeGroot asked with interest. “Cleaning up the last of Hitler’s little friends who were all hidden away?”

“Something like that,” Jane replied flatly.

“Well come in lad, the neeps ‘n tatties are almost ready. Never let it be said that DeGroot’s turned away a guest on Smissmas.” Mr. DeGroot went back into the kitchen, and Jane decided he liked him.

“Want me to get your coat?” Tavish asked.

Jane clutched the coat to him protectively. He didn’t part with his belongings unless he truly had to. “’S fine.”

“It’s really no trouble, just let me-” As Tavish’s hand touched Jane’s shoulder, Jane flinched, stepping back toward the door. Tavish’s eye widened as he suddenly remembered the _no touching_ rule. “Ach, I’m sorry I just-”

“No it’s fine.” Jane took off his coat and handed it to Tavish. Better than having to start an incident over it.

Tavish, embarrassed, excused himself to clean up for dinner.

Jane did too, eventually coming to the kitchen and absorbing that wonderful smell. It had been so long since he’d had a home cooked meal, the sight of a large roast duck and turnips tucked under its wings almost made his knees give out. Instead, he seated himself in a chair that didn’t match the rest of the table set.

Mr. DeGroot began chatting to him as he sat, politely refusing to let Jane help. He wanted to know all about his adventures in Germany, how many people he’d killed, if he’d seen any planes explode. It was…hard. Jane’s memories were foggy, even of things that had only happened a week ago, and mostly he ended up just talking about America

Tavish came back down, beanie missing and an eyepatch found. Jane thought he looked nice with it on, and wondered why Tavish didn’t always wear it.

“Finally!” Mrs. DeGroot told him. “Could you drag your feet any more? Help with the carrots.”

Despite the small home, it was obvious the DeGroots weren’t wanting. They said Tavish had more than one job, so maybe that explained it. “What do you do?” Jane asked Mr. DeGroot curiously. “I’ve talked a lot about me.”

Mr. DeGroot brightened instantly. “I, laddie, am a Demoman. Finest in all the highlands. Maybe not for long though, if Tavish keeps honing his skills.” He patted Tavish on the shoulder as he set down the carrots, and Jane thought Tavish actually looked happy for the first time since stepping in the house.

“What’s a demo-man?” Jane asked curiously, the word strange on his tongue.

“What’s a Demoman?” Tavish asked, mouth opening in shock. “ _What’s a Demoman?_ he asks, bloody hell. I’ll tell you what a Demoman is lad: it’s the finest profession to ever come out the families of the Highlands. The ultimate form of skill, intelligence, and bravery that man can achieve. Or woman,” he added with a nod to his mother. She scoffed.

“Okay,” Jane said solemnly. “But what do you _do_?”

“Well…it’s mercenary work,” Tavish explained. “Kind of like what you do, but flashier and for money.”

Mr. DeGroot smiled as Tavish launched into a long explanation of the DeGroot family tradition, and didn’t seem to mind that his son had sat down. He went to go help out with the food.

Jane listened in rapt attention. Tavish had a way of talking that made everything sound like a story, his accent adding a layer of mysticism too it. He continued on happily after they’d said grace, and Jane found the food and the conversation were equally enjoyable. Mr. and Mrs. DeGroot joined in occasionally, pleased to talk about their family and their traditions. Jane learned that Mrs. DeGroot had also been a Demowoman, and the profession was how the two senior DeGroots had lost their eyes.

It was much easier now that he wasn’t the one talking. He found he liked the DeGroots, even considering he’d basically been picked up by them on accident.

Smissmas dinner came and went, and Tavish insisted that Jane could stay in the guest room if he wanted. The initial layer of dislike seemed to have melted from Mrs. DeGroot, so Jane cautiously accepted.

“So, the airline holding your luggage hostage?” Tavish asked later, taking a puff from his cigar.

They were in the garden, the area moderately clear of snow, even as flakes drifted down around them. It was a windless night, smoke rising and ice falling at equal speeds, passing each other like fleeting acquaintances. Jane blew from his own cigar, the pure smoothness of it making him close his eyes in bliss. At first he’d tried to say no when Tavish had offered it to him, but like on all of the DeGroot’s kindnesses he’d eventually caved. Now, he stood on the patio with his strange new Demoman friend and smoked the first real tobacco he’d had in years.

“No,” Jane replied, rolling his cigar between his fingers. “I just don’t have anything. What I have, I keep in my coat.”

“Damn,” Tavish huffed. “That’s it? However many years in Germany and nothing to take back?”

“I’ve got a toothbrush,” Jane shrugged. “And some money I…found. All my weapons were confiscated when I was…discharged.”

Jane didn’t know how to explain it. Not in the way that anyone would understand, to know he was no civvie. It would be best to just leave things the way they were and let others fill in the blanks.

“Oh. Yeah. I suppose they wouldn’t let you take that on the plane.” Tavish blew another ring of smoke into the starless, cloud-coated sky. “So. What are you doing when you get back to America?”

Jane frowned. He followed Tavish’s gaze upward, watching each individual snowflake make it’s long journey down to earth. “Haven’t really thought about it,” Jane admitted. “All I know is I want to see those spacious skies and damn amber waves of grain again. A true American can’t go this long without seeing lady liberty, otherwise he starts to go crazy.”

“Just that? No people worth speaking of?”

Twirling the cigar in his fingers, Jane hesitated. But then he gave the only honest answer. “Nope.”

Tavish nodded sadly. “I see. ‘M sorry.”

Jane couldn’t really explain that one either, so he just silently accepted the condolences.

After the cigars had shortened down to their nubs, Tavish picked up the conversation again. “Do you know what you want to do for work? Now that you’re not a Soldier anymore?”

Jane prickled, but he knew that Tavish’s assessment was true. He sighed, “Like I said, I don’t know. Fighting’s all I’ve ever really known. All I’m really good at.”

“Have you ever thought about doing mercenary work?” Tavish said, a little too earnestly.

Looking over at him in surprise, Jane startled. “Mercenary work? Like being a Demoman?”

“Well, there’s all sorts of ways to kill people,” Tavish rushed on, the note of hope in his voice growing enough to be recognizable. “You don’t have to do it my family’s way. But I’m sure there’s lots of people in America who want other people blown up, and ex-military always brings a layer of glamour to those looking for mercs.”

“I don’t know…” Jane began. It was hard to imagine himself fighting for any other reason than the good old US of A. But then killing for the pure art of war wasn’t such an unappealing idea either… “Are you sure people would want to hire me for that?”

“Of course!” Tavish grinned. “You’re a man who’s got the expertise, which is impressive at your age. You spin it right, you’ll land yourself plenty of jobs.”

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about…” Jane said, sensing there was something Tavish was leading to.

“That I do,” Tavish admitted. “Which is why my next idea is really the kicker: we cross the pond, and you and I go into business together.”

“What?” Jane blinked. “ _Business_?”

“Aye, business,” Tavish said proudly. “We’ll be partners, hired together and then split all of our earnings fifty-fifty. It’s hard to find mercs who work well together, folks’ll love it! Plus, with my knowledge of the trade and your background, we’d be the perfect combination of connections and experience.” When Jane just continued to gape at him, Tavish insisted, “C’mon, think about it! You said it yourself, you didn’t have any other plans for after your deployment is over.”

Jane shifted, his boots forming dark marks in the freshly fallen snow. “Well…what about you? Wouldn’t you be leaving your family behind?” Normally Jane wouldn’t question why someone would want to leave their shitty country and come live in the home of the brave, but from what he understood the DeGroots were happy here. The Ullapoolians may be strange, but they did value family.

Tavish barked out a laugh. “Are you kidding? Not a day goes by when my mum doesn’t remind me that’s I’m a leech on their undying hospitality.” Tavish rolled his eye. “Besides, look at this place. The town is all dried up. No matter how many jobs I get here, no one has the coin for what my services are worth. Nah, I’ve got to set out, find my own fortune.” He paused to grin at Jane. “Preferably with a partner at my side.”

This was a decision. A big one. Jane could tell in the way the night seemed to hang in dead space all around them. Years later, after it was all said and done, he would wonder why he said yes. He’d also wonder why he’d said yes to following Tavish home in the first place, yes to all those niceties and consideration thereafter. It might all be the same reason: because was just the path of least resistance. Regardless, as the two men stood their in the garden while the cold layers came down, neither one realized this might be the most important night of their lives.

Somewhere, deep in a warm, snug cottage, a grandfather clock chimed midnight.


	2. Earning

The first time Soldier killed a man, he used the blade of his shovel to divide the _Wehrmacht_ cadet’s skull clean in two. The state between killing and moving on was so smooth, Soldier didn’t even notice the transition. Alive and suddenly not anymore, the significance that it was his first kill didn’t register until there were eight more bodies piled up under his feet, and he was sorting through them for the right ammunition.

It occurred to him that maybe he should feel something about it, and the fact that he didn’t worried him.

It would take a couple of years, but eventually he would stop worrying about when things didn’t make him feel the way they should.

* * *

Jane was methodically cleaning his new shotgun when Tavish dropped at least a dozen fliers on the living room table.

“What in the name of James K. Polk do you think you’re doing you maggot?” Jane demanded, paper landing all over his gun parts.

“It’s job hunting time, laddie!” Tavish said enthusiastically, even as Jane picked fliers off his equipment. “The apartment’s not going to pay for itself.”

With that, Tavish edged around the couch in said apartment. The place was small, one bathroom and a solitary window looking out on the muck of the Hudson, but it was fairly clean compared to some of the apartments in Lower Manhattan. It was better than what Jane could have done on his own, and having a partner was already paying off.

Jane picked up one the fliers. “What the hell…” He picked up another one. “Tavish! These are all handy-man jobs!”

“You got it mate,” Tavish replied, ignoring Jane’s blustering and opening the fridge. “Ach!” he yelled in disgust. “You bought orange juice with pulp in it _again_.”

“That is because a real man doesn’t have a problem drinking the body of the fruit he murdered to get at its sweet, sweet blood. Now tell me why you brought home _missing cat posters_ ,” Jane demanded, sitting on the arm of the couch and sticking his feet in the kitchen. “I thought you said you’d get us some mercenary jobs?”

“I’m working on it,” Tavish said with annoyance, although whether over the jobs or the juice Jane couldn’t tell. “But it takes time. It’s not like someone hangs up a sign that says _I’m looking for people who are willing to kill for money. Give me a ring!_ I’ve gotta go to the right places, talk to the right people.” He poured himself a glass of water instead.

“So you expect us to move a couch just to support ourselves?” Jane waved the flier for emphasis.

“Yes,” Tavish said, a confidence in his eye that Jane had learned by now was hard to shake. “I expect us to _move a couch_ and _clean some air vents_ and _deliver some snorkels_ because that’s what’s going to get us money. Money we can then use to buy _pulp-free juice_.” He tilted back his glass for emphasis.

Jane couldn’t argue with that. He’d have to trust Tavish to get them a job at some point.

(In the end, they did end up moving that couch. It smelled of cat dirt and tobacco smoke, and Jane didn’t think he’d ever be able to have another cigar again.)

* * *

Tavish finally found them some less-than-legal work four months after arriving in New York. It was a relief not to be doing busywork anymore, but that didn’t mean Jane was free from anxieties. Now came the waiting; neither of them wanting to do anything lest it interfere with their stint.

They would leave their apartment under cover of darkness, meeting their client at ten and commencing the job at midnight, but until then Jane was left to shuffle in the gravity of pre-job jitters.

“Hey, calm down laddie,” Tavish told him gently. “There’s no need to worry about meeting Diamondback. Clients don’t expect a lot in the way of social skills from their mercs.”

Jane blew air out his nose in acknowledgment, but began pacing anyway. “Well what _does_ he expect?” he asked, trying not to sound too nervous. It’s not like he was a coward. He wasn’t afraid of this Diamondback maggot-humper.

Moving from the couch, Tavish inserted himself in Jane’s pacing path. “Well, less twitchy for one thing.” Jane reluctantly stopped. “You should look threatening, but not like you’re going to cause trouble for them.”

“I should look threatening but also nonthreatening?” Jane asked, raising his arms in defeat.

“Don’t over think it. Just relax.” Tavish raised a hand over Jane’s shoulder, cautiously looking for permission. Jane gave a shaky nod, and let Tavish softly smooth out the wrinkles he’d gotten in his coat.

That had been an interesting hurdle to overcome. Tavish was touchy-feely, even by his own admission, and it clashed horribly with Jane’s contact aversion; any non-violent contact with others made him feel weird for reasons he could never articulate. It had taken time, but Jane found he didn’t mind so much anymore as long as he had proper warning. Tavish could ask beforehand if friendly pat or playful shove was alright, and more often than not Jane would say it was. Plus…it was just Tavish. The strategy didn’t work for anyone else yet, but he always knew the Demoman had his comfort in mind. Maybe someday he’d be able to accept groceries from the bagger without hovering over his shovel, but for now he was fine with one person having his back.

Tavish finished smoothing him out, and told him to do some deep breathing. That helped more than Tavish’s shitty advice, and by night Jane was ready to go.

They met Diamondback in an abandoned warehouse, because, where else? He was what Jane expected a mobster to look like, complete with slicked back hair.

“You the Demoman?” he asked shortly, noticing Tavish’s duffel bag (contents purchased with funds from painting somebody’s nursery).

“Aye. Diamondback I presume?” Tavish asked, reaching forward to shake his hand.

“No shit.” Diamondback shook briefly, but then twisted his head to the open wall as soon as he was done. It was a view of the deserted port, full of factories that no longer smoked in favor of the new development in mid Manhattan. “Come on. We’re setting out in two hours. Names?”

“Just call me Bombs,” Tavish said, following Diamondback and his bodyguard when they moved to the back of the warehouse. “My mate here is the Boots of this operation.”

Diamondback snorted. “Clever.”

Jane waited until they’d been dropped off with some other hired guns to pull Tavish aside. “Private, why in Sam hell is my codename _Boots_.”

“Because you’ve never taken off those bloody things as lone as I’ve known you,” Tavish said, and Jane followed his gaze down to the pair of standard issue combat boots he’d relived from a soldier three days dead. At the time it was beautiful mercy, a perfect fit after two years in a pair too small. “I mean, I assume you’ve taken them off at some point, in bed or the shower or something, but I thought it’d be creepy to check.”

“You’re a real fucking Harpo Marx, you know that?” And Jane found himself amused despite himself. Tavish had a way like that; things that should make you angry never seemed to have the teeth.

“Not a joke,” Tavish insisted. “There are creatures, Bunyips, that live in rivers and lick the toes of anyone who forgets to wear socks to bed. That’s why you should never touch another man’s feet while he’s sleeping, lest he thinks you’re one and tries to kill you.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Jane grinned, and Tavish mirrored it.

Midnight rolled around, and Jane managed to keep from pacing.

It was straightforward. Storm Diamondback’s superior’s place, kill him, and rise a little higher in the pecking order that competed for this shitty piece of New York. Easy peasy. Supposedly the place they were hitting would be lightly guarded, the result of a different power-grab two weeks ago. Jane hoped they’d be more successful than the previous attempt.

He also hoped that it wouldn’t be _too_ lightly guarded. Jane was itching to kill something again; it’d been four months of odd jobs and pretending at normal civilian life, and he craved that rush of battle in his ears like a junkie craved the needle. Or how Tavish craved the bottle. His job would just be protecting the Demoman while he set up the explosives and then wait for Diamondback and his team to pick through the rubble. Certainly that couldn’t be entirely peaceful, could it?

They arrived at their destination. A former factory. These people really needed to mix it up a little.

Tavish broke the lock to the basement with pliers from the bag. Then they were down, way down, and Tavish set to work. Jane and the second guy on their team (Jane had already forgotten his name) stood watch, guns raised in case anyone came at the sound of the broken door. There were no footsteps. Yet. Jane occupied himself by running a thumb comfortingly down the side of his shotgun.

“Almost ready,” Tavish said softly, his concentration rock solid. “I guess about six minutes, then we get the hell back so I can detonate.”

“Hey! Who the fuck’s down there?”

“…Ooorrrr we can give it to these snake-eating blood weasels right now!”

A guy—why the fuck do all mobsters look the same?—came down the stairs and got a healthy breakfast of Jane’s shotgun. His dinky little pistol fell to the floor as he gurgled blood.

“Ha!” Jane shouted, his chest lighter than it had been in ages. “Playing cops and robbers is nothing like a real fight, sonny! Remember that.”

The guard keeled over, dead, but yelling called down the staircase from somewhere near the street. Jane and other guy exchanged fire with unseen guards until a joyous shout came from behind them.

“Hold on to your bra straps, lassies!”

Tavish was running at them, holding what looked like a stick of dynamite with a wristwatch attached. It looked like that because that’s what it was, and Jane had the good sense to leap aside and cover his ears.

Tavish chucked, one strong arm sending it up the stairs.

There was perhaps a half-second delay before, “holy SHI-”

The staircase exploded into flume of black fire that rushed out of both ends, tearing at the walls and surrounding concrete. Jane watched it all, the flaming wood, the burning supports, the scorches on the floor. As the explosion tore through their enemies, Jane felt his chest lighten even more.

“Kablooie!” Tavish shouted into the inferno.

Jane stood up, giving a whoop even as a severed hand landed a foot away from him.

“That was AMAZING,” he roared. He looked at Tavish in awe. “That’s why you always croak up a storm about this shit!”

Tavish beamed at him, both in surprise and glowing from praise. Or perhaps glowing because he sleeve was on fire. Jane noticed, and they both tried to beat it out, their desperate flapping eventually leaving them bent double and laughing.

Second guy watched the both of them. “You guys are fucking insane.”

Jane and Tavish righted themselves, just in time to hear creaking from the stairwell.

“Um…” Jane said. “Since that was our only exit, maybe you should hurry with those explosives before it collapses.”

“Ah…right.” Tavish snapped his fingers and shot Jane a couple of finger guns.

The stairway was breathing angrily all the while Tavish worked. Beads of sweat formed on Jane’s face as he stood near the heat of its charred remains, but he refused to leave his position at the door. There could always be more of them coming down, and his job was to protect Tavish. The exhilaration still coursed through him, and he replayed the staircase going up in flames in his mind’s eye. Fuck the weird tagalongs and the guy telling Jane who to shoot: working with people wasn’t so bad if he got to see that every now and again.

Finally, the charges were ready.

“Good thing my little improvisation didn’t set any of them off early,” Tavish said as he wiped his hands and rejoined them. “But, ah, it still looks a little unsteady. We should probably go up one at a time.”

Jane hadn’t even opened his mouth when second guy was already sprinting up.

“Well. Alright then,” Jane commented. He looked over at Tavish. “That really was glorious son. I mean eagles wearing jetpacks and shitting red-white-and-blue glorious.”

“That little thing? That was nothing.” Tavish’s eye twinkled. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “In a moment, I’ll show you what these girlies can do.”

A voice called down the stairs. “I’m up. Get the fuck up here so we can go.”

The two partners shared a look, and Tavish nodded for Jane to go next.

He was only halfway to the top when he heard, “Hurry the fuck u-” _BANG_. It was followed by several more bangs as whoever else was at the top of the stairs wanted to double check.

“ _Shit_ ,” Jane muttered as the sound of feet approached the top. Not only did the stairs seem to sway under him, but he though the soles of his shoes might burn off if he stayed in one place for too long. “Tavish. Problem.”

“Fuck,” Tavish replied. There was one second of godawful silence where Jane didn’t know what to do, trapped like a rat in a cage. A cage rigged to explode, more accurately. Then Tavish was calling, “Okay. I’m coming.”

Jane nodded, to himself mostly, frozen in place while smoke threatened to choke him. He felt the stair sway as Tavish’s weight was added to it but, blessedly, it didn’t break. Then Tavish was there, standing firmly by Jane’s side.

“You take right, I take left,” Tavish said. “We rush ‘em as soon as we see feet.”

Jane nodded, more assured this time. “Time to kill some funny men.”

There wasn’t much time in between half-baked plan in execution. One second they were pushing up the rail-less stair, the next there was a man in front of them, filled with bullets before he could react. They were close enough now that when they rushed, there was nowhere for their enemies to go but back.

The close range of the shotgun tore through humans like tissue paper, and the whole fight stumbled into the alleyway even as Jane felt an elbow slam into his shoulder plexus. He was doubled over, but Tavish was immediately at his back, firing a pistol from over his shoulder. Jane got up and tore through a tie-wearing son of a bitch, only for his shotgun to click empty as he turned the man to gibs. He let out a warrior’s cry, whipping out his shovel and snapping open the collapsible blade.

Things after that were a blur.

There was a lot of blood coating the walls of the alleyway, and Jane was standing in the middle of it, chest heaving and surrounded by corpses. He pushed his helmet up just enough that he could see Tavish panting across from him.

“…Bloody hell.”

It was all Tavish could manage. He looked at Jane with fire in his eye, and Jane realized he’d struck the man speechless.

“…Yeah,” Jane admitted.

Tavish laughed, and motioned Jane to come along. They were done here, stepping over the body of the other mercenary as they went. There was only one thing left to do.

They leaned against the cars, probably getting blood all over the exterior but being “cleanly” wasn’t in their job description. Jane watched Tavish press a little detonator, and the factory buckled before them.

Jane whistled. Tavish had been right. The stair bomb was nothing.

It took an hour for Diamondback and his team to clear the building of any survivors. They came back haggard and covered in dust, but alive.

“All right,” he said coughing dust and leading the pack. “Everyone who needs to be gone is gone. Where’s Conte?”

“Dead,” Tavish said, thankfully before Jane could ask _who?_.

Their payment for the demolition came a day later. They celebrated by hiring someone else to get rid of their shitty couch.

* * *

The day Soldier received the worst news of his life, he told the man at the recruitment center there must be some sort of mistake.

“What sort of prissy, thumb sucking nonsense is this?!” he said, slamming his fist down on the counter, making the bell _ding_ with its reverberations. “I am in PEAK condition! There is NOTHING that would make me unfit for duty! I have been ready to serve my country since the day I was BORN.”

To the officer’s credit, he didn’t flinch at Soldier’s very impressive screaming powers. “I’m sorry kid, but we just can’t take you. Two-nine-eight.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Soldier demanded, his fists shaking no matter how he tried to make them stop.

“Unspecified psychosis. I’m sorry, but you’re mentally unfit serve in any branch of the US military.”

“Mentally… _what_ …?” Soldier felt like he was shaking himself to bits, right there in the middle of the recruitment center. “There’s got to be some sort of mistake. I…I am the most _fit_ person in this whole damn center! I am more capable to fight for this nation than you will ever be!” And fuck why was his voice cracking? Why now?

Soldier could feel people staring. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the officer at the counter motion for someone.

“There’s no mistake.” He looked down at Soldier, that revolting look of pity in his eyes. “There’s lots of tests, some people just can’t pass them all.”

Soldier hadn’t realized his knees had collapsed. He was still clinging to the counter, still talk trying to talk to the man over the sound of his thumping heart. “A mistake,” Soldier repeated, because that was the only explanation. “Please, just let me take them again. I’m fit to serve. I’m fit.”

His hands gripped the counter, even as a soldier was prying him off.

The officer looked him directly in the eye and said, “Sorry kid. I don’t think you are.”

Soldier couldn’t hold on anymore. Security broke his grip, and he was dragged away from the only thing that ever mattered.

* * *

Tavish and Jane were both in the living room, lying on their backs, and wasted as hell.

“I think we need to move.”

Jane turned his head to look at Tavish, vision obscured by the living room carpet. “Move?” he asked, and he knew Tavish didn’t mean move off the floor. “ _Again_?”

Tavish shrugged. “It’s what we’ve gotta do if we want to keep every cop in the Chicago Police Department out of our hair.” Jane groaned, and covered his eyes with his arm.

He’d grown comfortable in their Chicago apartment. It has a lot of space, and was right near the park if Jane decided to be alone for a while. They’d come here two years ago, after their old apartment had become too small for their ambition, and after three years of living in that slowly shrinking mime box, he’d been happy for the change.

“But this place is nice. I like it here.” He hadn’t meant to make it sound so childlike, but there it was.

“I know,” Tavish agreed. “I do too. But the life of a mercenary is travel, even if you’re not a world explorer. Not only will it keep law enforcement off our back, but all the gangs we’ve made enemies with over the years.” He looked over to see Jane drunkenly pouting at him. “Ahg don’t give me that! If you convince me to stay, someone’s eventually going to put a hit out on us.”

Jane sighed, but he knew Tavish was right. “Where do you even want to go?”

“Dunno. We could keep moving west, that’s what we’ve done so far.”

“West every three years?” Jane asked the ceiling. “Where do we go after San Francisco? Atlantis?”

Tavish laughed. “You know there’s things beyond the Pacific Ocean, right?”

Jane tried to think. He’d never been good at geology. “That’s Japan and stuff right? Doesn’t interest me. I always wanted to go fight on the western front, I down right demanded it. I was ready to fucking kick Nazi ass right up until they rejected me.”

Several seconds trickled by before Jane froze, realizing what exactly had just drunkenly slipped out of his mouth.

“Uh!” he said, whipping his head around to see if Tavish was looking at him. “You did not hear that, did you?”

“Whazat?” Tavish blinked tipsily. “Er…the whole thing about you being rejected from the military? Oh yeah. I figured.”

“WHAT.” Jane sat up so fast it hurt his head. The world seemed to be spinning very fast right now, and Jane couldn’t stop the panic that was setting in as his so-very-fragile world came tumbling down. “You figured?? What does that mean?”

“That…wasn’t the right way to say that,” Tavish realized, and pushed himself up. Using the armchair for support, he looked at the steadily panicking Jane.

“How did you know?” Jane demanded because that was impossible, it was his most well kept secret.

“Well,” Tavish said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean? I just sorta picked up on it. The medals you have are all made out of tinfoil, and you never could tell me anything about a rank or a company you were with. So I just put two and together that you must have been fighting lone wolf. You know, renegade style.” He could barely meet Jane’s eye as they sat across from each other.

“So you just…knew?” Jane demanded. He felt like he was sinking into the carpet, the warm fibers ready to swallow him up. The couch against his back barely seemed to rein him in. “You knew this whole time?”

“Not the whole time,” Tavish insisted, putting up his hands defensively. “But we’ve been friends for years Jane, I would’ve figured eventually. And I thought that if it was a big deal to you, you would’ve talked about it.”

There. That was it then. Someone knew and he’d figured it out so easily he could lay out the facts for any child to put together. How many other people knew? How many others he’d spoken to had figured him all out? He couldn’t look at Tavish, the shame burning every inch of his skin.

“But you knew,” Jane repeated. “I-it isn’t what you think!” he repeated in one quavering voice. He saw Tavish’s eye widen at his humiliation. “I’m not some-…it was a mistake!”

His voice broke. He could feel the shakes, and this time they were accompanied by the tears he hadn’t let himself shed in that recruitment center. Was he so much weaker now, that he couldn’t stop them from coming?

“Whoa, whoa!” Tavish said, apparently not expecting his confession to have this affect. “What do you mean? Going on your own was a mistake?”

“Not my mistake! Theirs!” He knew he must be hysterical right now, but he couldn’t stop it, and now Tavish would think he was more pathetic than he already did. “They screwed up, they’re wrong! I AM fit for duty, I was fit enough to kill them again and again and again!” His voice couldn’t go any higher, and it became one warbling crack before falling back down again. “I’m not crazy,” he whispered.

“Jane…” Tavish’s voice was soft, too soft. Jane couldn’t see him through the burning in his eyes, but he heard his partner move from the chair and sit next to him against the couch. “Jane, of course you’re not crazy.”

Jane didn’t respond. The shakes were silent, threatening to tear him apart from the inside. He folding his arms over his face and tucked his head into his knees.

“Jane,” Tavish said again. “Can I?”

Lifting his head just enough, Jane was able to see Tavish through blurred vision. His arm was hanging just above Jane’s shoulders, searching for permission. Jane managed a nod.

The arm fell around him, and it felt like Tavish was drawing Jane’s body into his own. It was more human contact than Jane had ever experienced, and yet neither terrifying nor suffocating. It felt like Tavish, and Jane didn’t resist as the Demoman pulled him even closer until they were in a genuine hug.

“Jane, you’re not crazy,” Tavish said tenderly, his agonizing words coming from just above Jane’s head. “You can’t be. If you’re crazy, then I’m crazy too. No one should believe what a bunch of military-types said to you at a phone stand fifteen years ago.” Jane’s face was pressed into Tavish’s chest now, and he felt like he was being held too tight. But the warm arms around him steadied him, held him like they were trying to squeeze the shakes out of him in their constriction.

A noise escaped Jane’s throat that wasn't anything articulate. Tavish’s words were coming from so far away, and Jane couldn’t form the process to absorb him. He just knew that he was grounded, held still, not having to bolt to a new hidey-hold when his sudden bouts of self-destruction alerted the enemy.

“But I’m still…” Jane managed to say. He didn’t want Tavish agreeing with him, especially when he knew it wasn’t the truth. “I am though. I try to tell myself I’m not but I am. You have to know that Tavish.”

“I know no such thing,” Tavish said firmly. “Everyone’s different Jane. I’ve been called crazy because I laugh a little too hard at explosions. People will say anything they know will hurt.” Jane felt a hand across his head, gently smoothing his hair. “What the hell do they know about you, anyways? How many times they meet you? Once? I know you, and I know you’re fiercest, bravest fighter I’ve ever met.”

Renewed heaves lurched in Jane’s chest. But this time the trembling was just from the effort of breathing, chest rising and falling in lurches.

There were still hot tears building up inside him he couldn’t quite stop, but he was able to lift his head enough to look up and say, “Thank you, Tavish.”

Tavish smiled, sadly but genuinely.

Jane didn’t know how long they sat there. It must be the first time he ever cried in his life because the dam that broke that day held at least thirty years of unshed tears behind it. At some point Jane didn’t have it in him to fight it anymore, and the salt still flowed down his cheeks like it didn’t want to be left out.

Tavish idly searched in their shopping bags, still sitting on the coffee table and within reach. They’d pulled the booze from it as soon as they got home, forgetting to put away the groceries in favor of celebrating their latest sting. By some miracle, they’d actually bought some tissues this time around, and Tavish passed them to Jane when he needed them.

“Hey,” Tavish said after a while. “Have something to eat. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

They were still sitting on the carpet, but Tavish had given Jane some much-needed space. The hug and been strange and surreal and needed, but now Jane wanted time to think. To sort it all out.

Now he looked up to the grocery bag Tavish was offering him, and wordlessly searched around for something good.

“Oh there he fucking goes,” Tavish said in exasperation. “Opening the cereal box from the bottom like some two-bit whore.”

Jane’s fingers jerked mid open, laughing aloud in truth. He was surprised his vocal cords could still make that noise. Tavish’s judgment didn’t stop him though, and he tore the Quangaroos box until he could empty a little toy army man into his palm.

“You little cheater,” Tavish said with a shake of his head. Jane beamed at him through watery eyes. How he could always strike just the right mood, Jane would never know.

While Jane began on his cereal, the Demoman left briefly, and came back with some ice water. Jane gulped it down in between bites. After getting really fucking drunk and then crying like a bitch, his dehydration demanded he have at least twenty more of them.

“I am…fucked up though,” Jane said, slamming it down.

Tavish shrugged. “Aren’t we all?”

“But I mean…things just aren’t right. Up here.” Jane tapped his head. “I don’t have all the important stuff. Things before I went to Germany, even things that happened there, it’s all just kind of…missing.” Jane laughed bitterly, looking at his little green army man. “I don’t know my birthday, my home town. I don’t even know my own fucking name.”

“Well now you’re just fucking with me,” Tavish said. “It’s Jane, I just said that a minute ago.”

Jane cracked a crooked grin. “Really? You figured out the rejection thing willy-nilly but you couldn’t figure out my name’s not Jane Doe?”

“W-what?” Tavish said, as it gave Jane a silly sort of happiness to see him confused for a second.

“I didn’t need one in Germany, and no one asked for it after. No one except you.” He shrugged. “When you wanted to know my name, I didn’t know what to say. So I just said one of those…whaddya you call ‘em? Anonymous names? First one that popped into my head.”

“Oh lord. My whole life is a lie,” Tavish said tilting his head back in his most dramatic fashion.

And he made Jane laugh again, somehow through everything.

Jane was close to finishing Quangaroos when Tavish said, “…you know, there are creatures that steal people’s memories. They’re called baku, and they go in dreams and eat the bad ones but sometimes that means taking important ones.”

Tavish said it quietly, and Jane knew this wasn’t one of those times Tavish just made up things to mess with him. There was an underlying statement in that, one that Jane could also feel in the way Tavish was looking at him.

“Maybe,” Jane replied softly. “Maybe that is what happened to me. It’s possible.”

“Yeah,” Tavish agreed, and he let Jane think on that the rest of the while they sat there.

* * *

The first time Soldier saw a dead American, Soldier tried to help. He checked the pulse, then checked the injuries, then desperately looked around for whoever the hell shot him. When he couldn’t find that, he tried to find where the private’s company could have gone. And when he couldn’t find _that_ , he came to the only conclusion he could: they didn’t have time for him, and had left his body here. Alone.

Soldier buried him. It took all afternoon, and the last traces of dawn scraping the sky when Soldier lowed the body into the earth. He held the dog tags in one hand before he did, not knowing what he was should to do with them. These were supposed to stay on him, right? Or should he put them on the wooden cross so it wouldn’t be an unmarked grave?

In the end he left them on, cursing that he had never learned that part of war. They never talked about that in any movie he’d ever seen.

The next day, he found the rest of the soldier’s company.

He tried to bury them too, but Nazi infantry showed up when he was only halfway through and began shooting at him. He ran. Abandoning them. Because he was a coward.

In the seven-year cycle that defined the entirety of the Soldier’s life, Soldier needed to replace his gear often. At some point, he no longer was concerned that finding a slaughter of human bodies made him happy.

* * *

“Stay the fuck awake,” Jane told Tavish, taking yet another shuffling step in the underground tunnels of the casino.

It was a pointless thing to say. Tavish hadn’t been conscious for several minutes now, or at least not conscious enough to say anything back to Jane. The Demoman hung limply against his partner, blood soaking the fabric between them.

“Just fucking…stay with me.” Jane ignored the defeat in his own voice, how it was practically a plea.

The heist had gone tits up from the moment they walked in the Luxor’s front door. Their guy on the casino floor had been caught, but they were all in to deep by the time they noticed to call it off. Jane had looked at Tavish, the two of them hearing the same news over theirs mics.

“We got this,” Tavish insisted. “We keep going, grab what we can, and ditch only if things go terrible.”

And Jane listened because he trusted Tavish, trusted him with his life. And yet it wasn’t Jane who was being hauled foot by agonizing foot, bleeding from several gunshot wounds while they made their escape.

Alarms roared in Jane’s ears, and Jane didn’t want to think about what would happen if they were caught. Prison if that gunfire belonged to the police. Worse if it was the casino security. He knew they could make their escape faster if he could fireman-carry Tavish, but pressing against his injured side was the only thing keeping the blood in his body.

They made it to the street door, and Jane kicked it open. Thank god it was unlocked. At least that part of the heist had succeeded.

It was hard to find a car, harder still to find one unattended all the while the sirens were growing louder. It killed Jane to sling Tavish’s arm off him, but he couldn’t hotwire with only one hand.

Engine light. A miracle.

Jane pulled Tavish into the front seat, pulling the seatbelt in a way it could keep pressure on the wounds. There was so much blood already, coating the white leather and making the steering while sticky under Jane’s hand. He pressed against Tavish with his other one, wishing he could close his eyes and make this nightmare go away.

Tavish was a planner. Jane could fight, could gather the bare relics of strategy, but at the end of the day he wasn’t the brains of their operation. He’d stopped taking his cut of the profits years ago, preferring to let Tavish handle the bills, the numbers, the contacts. Tavish made the contingencies.

Because if he didn’t, they wouldn’t have the safehouse.

It wasn’t their only one, but it was the sole safehouse within driving distance of the Las Vegas strip. The smell of blood in the car was overpowering as Jane drove to it, and every blinking light looked like sirens in his rear-view mirror. He couldn’t even close his eyes to block them out; Tavish needed him to stay focused.

The safehouse was dark, nothing like the beacon of hope Jane needed. He hauled Tavish inside, telling him _stay with me stay with me_ with each step. He knew he was supposed to hide the car, but that would have to come later. Now was the time for beating the devils nipping at his partner’s heels, waiting to pass judgments for all the sins he’d committed.

Bandages. He needed bandages.

Thankfully, the safehouse was well stocked, once again to Tavish’s planning. Jane returned to the bedroom he’d left Tavish in, the sheets already soaked through after only a minute. How was there still more blood?

“I’ve got bandages,” Jane told Tavish as he knelt down. “And antiseptic, and all that. I’ve got you. You just need to stay with me you bastard.”

Tavish didn’t respond. His face was so slack so…dead. Jane’s heart lurched at the unbidden thought, but when he placed two fingers against Tavish’s neck he still felt a faint, flitting pulse.

In Germany, Jane had operated on himself numerous time due to the unadulterated recklessness that was his fighting style. He knew how to pick the bits out a gunshot wound, how to splint a broken leg, how to keep a gash from getting infected. This should be easier than trying to do any of that on himself, and yet his hands still shook as cleaned the largest wound. The bullet had gone all the way through, and that might have very well saved Tavish’s life. Jane didn’t have to waste time finding it, and was able to clean and dress the wound within the minute. Only once he gave Tavish a shot something in the medkit to slow his heart rate did he let himself examine the other wounds.

There was one in his shoulder, one that’d only grazed him. One in his foot, still lodged. His right arm was a mess of shrapnel, but that was an accidental self-infliction when his own bomb had gone off a little too early. Overall, he was bad, but the worst damage was the blood loss after stumbling around in the basement for an eternity.

An hour poured by. Enough time for Jane to deal with the rest of Tavish’s injuries, and re-dress the one at his side. He wanted to stay, see what more he could do, but the thought of the bloodstained car outside was a prickle on the back of his neck.

When he’d moved it, he came back and collapsed against the bedroom wall.

After the increasing panic of a million things to do, the sudden emptiness was terrifying. He wanted to help, to prepare, to fight, but he knew the right thing to do was to lie low. To wait. Instead of leaping to action, he watched Tavish’s shaky breaths, and sighed in relief when he saw that the red dot along his side had only grown a small amount.

The sigh rattled something in Jane, and he remembered a casino guard ambushing him below swinging florescent lights. Jane had downed the bastard, but not before the guard had gotten him in the hip.

Jane lifted his shirt, peeling it off with effort and examining where the blood had fused the fabric to skin. He’d forgot about it in their daring escape, and suddenly the pain in his side hit him full force like it had been waiting for his attention.

“Damn it…”

He needed to get clean. There was blood and sweat caking every inch of him, and it moved like a second skin. Shower. Shower, then clean the wound.

Grime moved down the drain, droplets splattering the sides of the shower in a pinkish solution. Jane turned the water until it was scalding, blazing over his skin until it was red and numb. He sighed in relief. That was good. He wanted to stop feeling. After he’d put on new, clean clothes he sat back in the safehouse’s lone bedroom to stitch up the gunshot wound.

In a weird way, it was easier than tending Tavish’s. Maybe Jane really was only good at helping himself.

In a fit of exhaustion, Jane didn’t even realize his eyes had closed until they slammed open again with a start. He jerked against the wall, for a moment confused he wasn’t safe back at home. But then he remembered the failed heist, the blood, their escape. He looked up at Tavish, stomach sinking to see the Demoman lie so still.

It was mid morning from what Jane could tell through the perpetually closed shutters. He checked the clock in the kitchen, the one that blinked merrily on the lot’s microwave. He smiled briefly at it. It reminded him of the one they had at home, the one Tavish had brought back one day in a fit of excitement and told him that every day of the rest of their lives would be that much easier. Jane didn’t see value in it, but Tavish was so thrilled that he just kept his mouth shut. At least, he did right up until Tavish didn’t know how to work the damn thing and wound up putting a whole can of soup in it.

Jane stood in the kitchen and smiled at the memory. His smile wavered when he remember that the only reason that memory was a good one was because Tavish had walked into a half-destroyed kitchen and laughed himself silly.

Tavish wasn’t laughing right now. He was lying in the bedroom, dying, and Jane couldn’t help him.

Jane went back in anyway, and stared at his steadily breathing body. With a pang of guilt, he saw how much blood was still covering the sheets. How had Jane let himself take a shower when Tavish was still here forced to lay in his own filth? Jane immediately sprung to action, pulling off Tavish’s ruined clothes and throwing them with his own. Then he laid a towel on the other bed so he could transfer Tavish over while he cleaned the sheets.

It took most of the morning, but Jane was able to sponge Tavish off completely, redressing the bandages as long as he was at it. He put Tavish in the clean clothes from the dresser, and burned the pile of bloody clothes he’d accumulated. The rags he put in the wash. Who knows how long it would take Tavish to wake up, and if he’d need another sponge bath before then?

If he woke up at all.

Jane stiffened at the thought. He couldn’t let that distract him. But as he watched Tavish breathing shallowly, looking like he was rattling death’s doorknocker this very moment, he couldn’t keep the dread at bay.

He dropped to his knees in front of the bed. Tavish’s hand stuck at an awkward angle, his arm bent under him so that his hand jutted out over the side of the bed. His fingers hung limply, curled ever so slightly and still smelling of the soap Jane had used. Jane reached forward, gently intertwining them with his own.

“Please. Please Tavish. Don’t go.” He knew Tavish couldn’t hear him, and was already fighting his hardest if he could. But he needed to say it, to beg just on the off chance someone was listening. “Don’t leave me.”

He pressed his forehead against their hands and closed his eyes.

* * *

It took three days for Tavish to wake up.

Jane felt like he was dying every step of the way. Every time Tavish took a little too long to breath, he thought his heart might give out right there, standing in the middle of the bedroom. That’s where he stayed mostly. He couldn’t tear himself away.

So when Tavish did finally jerk awake, Jane was right there, kneeling in front of the bed with relief and exhaustion in his eyes.

“Took you long enough,” Jane managed to say.

“Jane…?” Tavish asked groggily, looking around unfamiliar walls. “Where are we?”

“Safehouse B. The heist went to shit, you got shot, I brought you here. There, now you’re all up to speed.”

Tavish laughed, and Jane wished he wouldn’t. His throat sounded parched, even aver all the water bottles Jane had fed him through a funnel. Jane hadn’t even been joking, he’d just been telling the truth.

Tavish processed that information, and looked down at himself. It took a couple of minutes, poking and prodding around his only partially healed body, until he was able to declare, “Well. Shite.”

“Yeah,” Jane agreed. But looking at Tavish, awake and alive, it stirred something in Jane’s heart, something so much stronger than relief. “I’m just…so glad you’re alive.”

Tavish’s face rippled in emotion. He looked down at himself, then back up at Jane. “I’m surprised you didn’t leave me.”

“What?” Jane asked, suddenly shocked. “What the hell do you mean?”

“I almost got the two of us killed,” Tavish said, the memory of the night coming back to him. “I had us keep going when it obviously wasn’t going to work, just because I knew the take was going to be good. And _then_ , I almost got _you_ killed hauling my ass out of there, all for my stupid greed. You should have just left me.” He looked away from Jane in misery.

Jane remembered how he’d said something similar during their escape, but Jane thought that had just been the blood loss talking. But no, apparently Tavish did think Jane could just leave him over some stupid mistake.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jane demanded, and Tavish jerked his head in surprise at the intensity in his voice. “You think I could just let you to die? After everything we’ve been through?”

Tavish shrugged. “I don’t…”

Jane didn’t give him any more chance to respond. He grabbed Tavish’s hand with both of his own, much in the same way he’d begged the Demoman to stay with him all those nights ago. “You listen here you son of a bitch. You’ve been by my side for over a fucking decade, and no way in hell am I letting them take you if I can prevent it. What the hell do you think I’d do if you died, huh? Just keep on going on without you? You’re the only friend I’ve ever had you rat bastard. You’re the most important mother fucker in the whole goddamned world as far as I’m concerned, and I’d sooner kill myself than let anything happen to you.”

Jane realized how much his voice was quaking, but he had no means of stopping it. He freed on of his hands from clamping down Tavish’s, and held it against the side of the Demoman’s face.

“Do I make myself clear?”

And then something… _changed_ in Tavish’s eye. It was subtle; the widening of it, a dilating pupil, but also something Jane couldn’t quite place.

Jane expected Tavish to make a joke at his expense, or at least acknowledge that what Jane was saying was important. Instead Tavish just looked at him, cognizance swimming in his stare.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Jane asked after a few moments of silence.

Tavish blinked, but it only moderately lessened the intensity. “I…nothing. I just…realized something.”

He bit his lip, and Jane noticed how chapped his mouth was. “…Fine then. If you’re not going to take this seriously, I’m going to go get you some more water.”

As he got up, he was suddenly yanked back down into place. Tavish’s hand had closed over his own, something he hadn’t noticed until he tried to leave.

“I kind of need you to let me go to do that,” he said.

Tavish blinked again, and looked down like he hadn’t realized it either. He let go of Jane’s hand, and allowed him to go to the kitchen for a drink. Jane shook his head. He wondered what the hell Tavish had realized that made him so skittish. Maybe he could ask him once he was a bit more lucid.

* * *

The first time Soldier met his fellow combatants, he almost ran.

They asked a lot of questions, too many. But the rations were good and they had a spare bedroll, and Soldier figured it was worth it to come up with some extravagant lies. At least for a little while.

Plus, it was nice to fight with people by his side.

It all came crashing down, of course; they could only tolerate a sole survivor of a German attack for so long before they became suspicious. Then the communications came back on one day, and Soldier knew it was time to head for the hills. He took the bedroll though, he’d need it more than them.

* * *

After twenty years of being a mercenary, Jane should’ve expected his reputation to proceed itself. He did, but that didn’t prepare for the day when a little woman in purple dropped into the seat across from him while he was having breakfast at his favorite ocean side café.

“Mr. Doe,” she said, as though this were a perfectly pre-arranged meeting and he weren’t getting crumbs all over the front of his shirt. “My name is Miss Pauling. I represent Builder’s League United, and I’d like to offer you a job.”

“Uhhh,” Jane stuttered, his brain still sluggish from where the coffee hadn’t hit it. “If we’re going to be talking, uh, _business_ , then I really go by Boots-”

“Mr. Doe,” she insisted.

That was sign number one.

“Uh, okay. Mr. Doe it is. But uh, how did you find me? Exactly?” He sat up a little straighter, wiping crumbs off his face. There was something off about the way she had appeared, all mysterious-like, and there was suddenly no doubt in Jane’s mind she didn’t have a back-up plan. “And why me? I don’t know why you decided to spring _me_ , but I’m not exactly in the profession of building things.”

She chuckled, and it was the dry, humorless chuckle that mob-bosses liked to use to make themselves feel superior. It was usually more intimidating when it came from people over 5’4”.

“Mr. Doe, I assure you your services at BLU wouldn’t be misplaced. Currently, we are looking for someone to fill the role of Soldier. Might that interest you?”

Jane perked up in his chair. “You…want me to be a Soldier again?”

She slid a cookie off his plate and took a bite. “Not exactly in the way you’re thinking of. To my company, ‘Soldier’ is a class. One of nine classes on a specific team. We are hoping you’d help us fill our last role in exchange for a significant pay grade.”

She finished the cookie and wrote a number on a napkin in neat, scrolling handwriting. She passed it to Jane, and he nearly spit out his coffee.

“T-this is what I’ll get when I’m done?” he asked.

“That will be your monthly payment.”

“ _Monthly??_ ”

Holy shit. That was more than their last three jobs combined. Man, when he told Tavish the Demoman would be-

“Wait,” Jane said suddenly realizing. “I don’t know if I can do this solo. Me and my partner are kind of a package deal-”

“BLU already had a Demoman,” Miss Pauling said coolly.

Jane’s stomach dropped. He looked down at the figure, then back at Miss Pauling, then down again. Finally, he sighed, and slid it back to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, as much as it pained him. “But I don’t do any jobs without my partner. Don’t be offended but, this all sounds a little too good to be true, and I don’t like going into a team without having at least one person who I know has my back.”

He expected her to haggle. To perhaps raise her price, or insist that doing one job without a partner wouldn’t do him any harm. But she just stared down at the napkin, a frown frozen on her face.

“Well then,” she said after a minute of uncomfortable silence. She stood up. “I suppose I best be going then. Enjoy your breakfast Mr. Doe.”

Jane watched her go, making sure she had completely exited the café before resuming his coffee. For some reason, it tasted a lot more bitter than it did before.

* * *

The next, and last, time Miss Pauling approached him was at the pier. Jane liked to go there often, to get out of the house and get some fresh air in his lungs. It was a smaller one, meaning it was usually deserted on cooler days.

Jane didn’t even hear her approach. One minute he was alone, the next a woman in a purple scarf and sharp glasses was leaning over the railing next to him.

“Mr. Doe. I think it’s about time we talked again.”

“Ahg!” he said, taking a startled leap to the side. “…Oh. It’s you.” He shuffled, trying look like she hadn’t scared the living daylights out of him. “What exactly do we need to talk about? I think I made myself pretty clear last time.”

“BLU doesn’t like being told no, Mr. Doe.”

That was number two.

He huffed into his winter jacket. “Come to offer me more money? It won’t work.”

“No, but I have come to show you this.” She handed him a file, produced from her coat. It was a manila folder, labeled TOP SECRET in big red letters, and ruffled threateningly in the breeze.

Jane took it. He flipped through the pages, not understanding most of the writing, until he reached a diagram he could comprehend. Even if he couldn’t, Miss Pauling began to explain anyway.

“BLU offers its employees access to the latest technology developed by our research team. This is our respawn machine, which you would be free to use as long as you are on company premises. The respawn machine is a marvel of medical engineering, reverting all injuries upon the subjects death.” Her voice watched the icy wind coming off the surf. “That is, in layman’s terms, anyone who uses this machine would be immortal.”

Jane’s hand froze above a diagram of a human being resurrected. “And…I would be using this?”

“BLU wants the best from our employees. Fighting without fear of death leads to the desired results.”

Immortality. Shit. Jane could already see how good that could be, how many different decisions he would make if he didn’t need to worry about death. And yet…in the end, there was only one person he feared for the life of.

“How long would I work for you?” he asked quietly.

“Until your contract is terminated.”

Jane knew that. That was boss talk for _as long as we want you_. He closed the folder.

“I’m sorry Miss Pauling. I really am. You people must want me bad to offer me this, but I think it’s better to live a short human life where you’re happy than an infinite life where you don’t get to pick your own bathroom breaks. Thanks but no thanks, sweetheart.”

That was three.

Miss Pauling’s frown was dangerous. Even with as little as Jane knew about people, he knew that much. She tucked the file back into her coat and looked at him through rimmed glasses.

“This was a very good offer, Mr. Doe. One you won’t be seeing again. BLU risked a lot to show you this. I hope you understand if we can’t let it slide.”

Jane gulped. He knew real threat when he heard one. As he watched Miss Pauling disappear down the pier, he realized he needed to warn Tavish. Immediately.

* * *

“And I definitely think she’s going to be a problem,” Jane finished explaining. He wasn’t usually a nervous man, but he couldn’t help but wring his hands when he thought about the trouble he’d gotten them into. “What the hell should I do?”

Tavish was sitting at the kitchen table, bottle of scrumpy in hand and looking down in thought. It’d taken a few minutes to explain everything—from when Pauling first showed up to the pier—but Tavish listened with intensity the whole time. Now, he took another swig and set the bottle down definitively.

“I’ll get back to you on that. For now, it certainly complicates things.”

“Complicates things?” Jane asked. “Were there already things around to be complicated?”

Tavish frowned, and looked down at his empty bottle. “Er…in a way…yes?”

Jane stopped pacing and sat down in the chair opposite him. “…Tavish? What do you mean by that?”

Tavish grinned feebly. “Well. What would you do if I told you something very similar happened to me over the past couple hours?”

“What?” Jane demanded, getting out of his chair, but Tavish motioned him to sit back down. He did, reluctantly, and began wringing his hands instead. “BLU came after you? Was it Pauling? Did they tell you about the magic machine?”

“No, not BLU,” Tavish shook his head. “They called themselves Reliable Excavation Demolition. We didn’t get much further than that. I asked them a lot of question, too many for their comfort, and figured out a lot of stuff. They’ve been watching me for a while now, had a whole history. Weren’t shy about it either. I could smell something was off, and when I told them no, they threatened to kill me.”

“THEY WHAT.” This time Jane knocked over the chair as he stood, and Tavish couldn’t make him sit back down again. He looked at Tavish in horror. “They’re going put a hit out on you? And you still said no???”

Tavish shrugged, his only concern seemed to be Jane’s growing distress. “Well I couldn’t just do a job without you now could I?”

“WHAT DOES THAT MATTER?” How could Tavish be like this, so fucking flippant about his own life? “They’re going to come after you now. You should’ve just…just said yes and been okay. You can’t think about me when your life’s on the line.”

Tavish’s eye softened, and he stood to get closer to Jane. “I’m always thinking about you Jane. Always.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jane hissed. Why was he being so stubborn? “F-fine then. Just…don’t-don’t leave the house without me, okay? We can beat them if we’re together, but you should have said yes anyway. What if they had shot you right there?” Jane realized something. “What if I had said yes to the BLU deal? Then there wouldn’t be anyone to watch your back!”

Tavish put his hands on Jane’s shoulders and tried to steady him. “I know you never would have taken it.”

“How? How can you know that?” Jane all but wailed.

And when Jane looked Tavish in the eye, he was greeted with a warm smile coming back at him. Tavish smoothed his wrinkle-less shoulders, looking at him with unprecedented kindness, something that didn’t belong with all the uncertainty inside them. Jane felt a light in his chest he couldn’t explain. It exploded within him, a magnetic pull toward the Demoman he’d never quite felt before.

“How?” Jane repeated. Tavish was trying to tell him the answer without words, but he felt too stupid to understand.

“Shhhh, it’s alright,” Tavish insisted, cupping Jane’s face in his hands. “We can talk about all this later, alright? Ever since I talked to those folks I’ve been making plans, seeing what I could do to get out from under their sight. We’ll get out of this, and once we’re safe, we’ll talk, eh?”

Jane didn’t think he understood, but he hugged Tavish anyway, holding onto him and never wanting to let go.

* * *

Jane was just coming out of the Pantry Pride when he heard the car zooming through the parking lot. He was just about to yell at the damn speeding hooligans when it slowed, poked the end of a rifle out of the passenger side, and littered him with bullets.

His body jerked, so many times it might have been comical. Then he hit the pavement, paper grocery bags shredded just as shredded as human flesh. Orange juice and broken eggs mixed together with blood, and Jane’s last thoughts before the darkness took him was that most hit-and-run vehicles weren’t so outrageously blue.


	3. Keeping

The day Soldier heard that the war ended, he was sitting in a puddle of his own blood and trying very hard to summon his shovel telepathically. It wasn’t working, and even if it was, it probably wouldn’t do him much good at the rate he was bleeding.

“Holy shit,” came a voice from the door of the renovated home Soldier had nestled himself in. Soldier was amazed. Not for the reason that the voice was amazed, but that the _voice itself_ was speaking in _American_.

“Holy shit yourself private,” Soldier said to the man standing in the doorway. He had something on his breast, an emblem. Was this guy a medic?

“Did you…did you fucking shoot that guy?” the medic demanded, and pointed at the body of the dead SS officer on the ground.

“You got it bub. Now are you just going to stand there or are you going to help a fellow American out?”

The medic hesitated, but looked over the state of Soldier once again and came over to help him. The wound was deep; the Nazi son of a bitch had gotten a few good licks in before Soldier had put him down like the mad dog he was.

“So did you just…walk right into his house and kill him?” the medic said, and pulled from his backpack various bandages and supplies.

“That’s what you do to Nazis, son.”

“But…everyone in town says he was cleared in the trials. I mean…we all knew he used to be one of them, but legally we can’t do anything…”

“Legally _you_ can’t, so _I_ did it for you. I’m not seeing the problem.” Soldier winced as the medic picked shrapnel from his wound. “Besides, that’s war son. No rule of law out here.”

That gave the medic pause. “Um…what do you mean?”

The sheer bluntness of it made Soldier snort. “Nazis? Blitzkrieg? Fall Weiss? Any of this ringing a bell?”

The medic’s stocky silence surprised Soldier, and when he looked up he saw shock in the other man’s eyes. It made sense when he finally told Soldier the truth: “Sir. The war ended four years ago.”

“…”

“…Sir?”

Soldier looked at the medic. Then down at himself. Then at the dead officer. “Oh. Huh. Learn something new every day.”

The medic tended the rest of Soldier, leaving him along to his thoughts, all bleating for his attention as he grappled with his new situation. There were regrets (mostly that if the war was over, Hitler was dead. and if Hitler was dead, that meant Soldier’s daydreams about getting to kill him himself were over) so Soldier was fine with the silence.

It wasn’t until the bullet wound was cleaned and fully dressed that he was able to say, “I guess I should go back to America, huh?”

“Uh…yeah.” the medic said. “I guess I can help with that. Red Cross, see?” He tapped the emblem on his shirt.

“Great. Thanks private.”

“Oh, I’m not military. That’s why I’m with the relief groups.”

“Okay son. I promise not to tell anyone.”

* * *

The memory of the Red Cross medic was so vivid in Jane’s mind, he woke up believing he was still back in Germany. It didn’t take long to find what had triggered it: his chest felt like it was on fire, just like it had when he was sitting bleeding to death in that stupid house. When he tried to sit up, he nearly passed out from the pain.

He must have made some sound when he did, because he heard the soft tapping of footsteps as someone approached his room.

But not _his_ room. Not a room from any apartment he’d ever lived in. (Yet not the concrete outside the Pantry Pride, so that was a step up.)

When Tavish came through the door, Jane apparently hadn’t learned his lesson from the first time, and tried to sit up again.

“Uhhhggg…” he croaked, flopping backwards onto his pillow.

“Hey, hey relax Jane,” Tavish said, rushing over and placing the back of his hand against Jane’s forehead. He must have approved of what he felt, because he smiled and sat down beside the bed. “You’re going to be alright.”

“Tav…?” Jane blinked. The whole room seemed to be swaying. It smelled of blood and salt, the walls were wooden, and even Tavish’s chair seemed to be made out of wicker. It was like craft-barn hell. “Tav, what happened?”

“You were stupid and went to get groceries without me,” Tavish said, though his expression wasn’t angry at all.

“Oh. Yeah.” Jane frowned. “Okay, better question, how am I alive?”

“I got a tip that ‘some blue bastards’ were planning a hit in an hour. It was only twenty minutes after you left, so I put two and two together.” Tavish frowned. “I’m sorry it took so long. I didn’t know which grocery store you would go to. I…was too late.” He placed his hand on Jane’s chest, the normally broad abdomen wrapped in a hell of a lot of bandages.

“Hey, if I’m still kicking, I don’t think it counts as too late.” Jane slipped his hand over Tavish’s. Here was his best friend, still looking out for him after all these years.

Tavish smiled back. After a quiet moment, he helped Jane prop some pillows so the injured man could lean comfortably against the headboard. Jane looked around the room again, saw the fresh flowers by his bedside and a fraying paper-back fantasy novel. Someone had obviously been tending him while he slept.

“How long have I been out?” Jane asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Little over a week,” Tavish said, and Jane’s stomach sank. “I had to put my plans in motion a bit early, and had to get a doctor too. You were really bad, putting you back together wasn’t something I could do with a couple of band-aids.”

Jane looked down at himself, wishing he could see through the white gauze and view the damage.

“But don’t worry, I made sure to grab this when we left.” Jane looked up to see Tavish lean behind the bedside table and withdraw Jane’s shovel a moment later. Jane reached for it immediately. Once it was in his hands he ran them over the worn wood, taking a bit of stability from the entrenching tool.

“Thanks.” He was glad Tavish gave it to him before he realized it was missing. That saved him one extra freak out. “And uh, sorry that you had to go back and get it.”

“No problem,” Tavish smiled. “I don’t begrudge my best friend a few eccentricities.” He gave Jane a wink.

“Oh of course, eccentricities.” Jane said with a roll of his eyes. “I have my shovel, and you have alcoholism and a beard.”

“I thought you liked my beard,” Tavish said, touching his facial hair self-consciously. He said it with such genuineness Jane almost believed his performance.

“I _do_ you overly sensitive hippie, but you obsess over it like it’s your first born,” Jane laughed, and he reached out to punch Tavish in the shoulder. It didn’t have any of the _umph_ Jane would have liked, but it made the Demoman smile.

“Overly sensitive hippie?” Tavish said in mock offense. “That’s tough talk for a man _who can’t eat crunchy peanut butter_ because _the chunks hurt his teeth_.”

Jane narrowed his eyes. “You wanna play hardball, bub? Fine, we can play hardball. How about I remind you of the time you were so excited we could afford a microwave you brought it home and immediately set our apartment on fire?”

“No one told me you couldn’t put in cans of soup!” Tavish yelled in his defense, but quickly mounted another attack. “And you thought my country was called Ullapool for _six years_!”

“Yeah! And you _let me_!”

They were yelling, but their eyes were shining. There was a moment of breathless excitement where Jane thought Tavish might come up with something else dumb he’d done in the past decades, but instead the Demoman wholeheartedly launched himself into sudden a hug. He wrapped his arms around his friend, spine arching just a little bit so he wouldn’t put pressure on Jane’s injuries. Jane smiled, and politely pretended he didn’t see the beginning of a tear in Tavish’s eye.

As he hugged Tavish back, he thought again about the book lying on the bedside table and felt bad for putting him through all this. If it was as bad as when Tavish had almost died, Jane couldn’t envy what he must have gone through. And _that_ time it had only been three days.

Tavish went through so much for him. Saving Jane’s life, risking his own. Like an itch, the scene in the kitchen came back to him, the one just a few hours before he went to get groceries. Something had been going on, something Tavish seemed to know and had promised they’d talk about later.

He was beginning to concern himself with what that might mean when he saw someone pass just outside his bedroom door. Jane’s pulse quickened immediately, aware again that he had no idea what was going on.

“Tavish,” he whispered, pulling from the hug. “Where are we right now?”

Tavish wiped his eye, and sat back in his chair. “Ship,” he said simply. Well, that certainly explained why the room kept swaying. “Like I said, I made a few hasty plans, and this one was leaving a couple hours after you were shot. It cost a lot of money to bring the doctor all this way, and he’s only coming as far as Panama. So, er, try to be better by then.”

“Panama?” Jane’s geometry knowledge was going into overtime. “Tav, where the hell is this ship headed?”

Tavish drew in a large breath, waiting for impact. “Scotland. We’ve gotta get out of the states.”

Jane stared at Tavish, and knew he wasn’t talking about going away for a holiday.

“It’s where RED and BLU are,” Tavish rushed on. “All their power, their information, they don’t have anything across the pond. So that’s where we’ve got to if we want to lose their tail. They know too much about us Jane…I’m…I’m sorry.”

“I…fuck.” Jane felt a lump tightening in his throat. “Tav I…need a minute.”

Tavish nodded, guilt in his eye. Carefully, he withdrew into his chair, picking up his book as he tried to give Jane some space. His eye kept scanning to quickly over the same page, over and over again, but it was the thought that counted.

Jane’s head was spinning as he took in the news. Of course, Tavish knew what he was talking about when they said they had to leave. He had probably spent a long time calculating the risks and benefits, weighing Jane’s patriotisms and the worth of both their lives until he came to the best possible solution. Still, Jane braced himself. He knew it was coming, that feeling of dread at the though of being on a ship already probably thousands of miles away from his country. His purple mountains of majesty, his fucking amber oats or whatever the fuck. He waited silently for that sudden panic that was bound to hit him any second.

It never came.

He just stared silently ahead, but the horror he was bracing for never arrived. After a minute, he let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, confused as to why to realization hadn’t seemed to hurt him. Softly, he reached forward, placing a hand on Tavish’s elbow.

“It’s okay, Tavish,” he said, and he didn’t even have to fight to keep his voice from shaking.

Tavish blinked, dropping the book without even marking the page. “What?” he blinked. “Really? You’re not upset about leaving?”

“I mean, I am,” Jane admitted. “But not as much as I thought I would be. I think because…I don’t feel like I’m leaving home.”

He hadn’t thought about the words before he said them, but now that they were out they made so much sense. He was still an American, and proud, but home meant something different now. He looked at Tavish, and tried explain everything he was feeling.

“We’ve moved…so many times now,” he began. “I’ve lost count. It was hard at first, because I wanted something to hold onto that I didn’t carry on my back. But then it became that it wasn’t where we lived or what city we were in, it was just you. You are my home. I’m okay with going back to Scotland if I know you’ll be there.”

When he reached forward, he didn’t really know what he was indenting to do. But then his hand closed on Tavish’s forearm, holding, and Jane realized he wanted his best friend so much closer. Tavish’s eye was shining still, alight with unshed tears and something more. That thing that Jane had seen all those years ago but had never been able to place.

Tavish had felt what Jane was feeling right now.

The thing Jane had been trying to grasp in the kitchen when he realized Tavish would rather die than be away from him. It was so strange, but not sudden. It was every calm night they would spend out on their Los Angeles balcony, it was that slowly creeping realization that Jane didn’t fear Tavish’s touch, but craved it. And it was something he’d needed come to on his own; a forgone conclusion, but a conclusion he might not have accepted the night of the failed heist.

It was closeness. Closeness born of decades, like two trees growing too close together until they were one. And it was closeness Jane needed right now.

Tavish’s eye widened. “Jane I-…” His voice was shaking, maybe suddenly realizing that Jane could feel it too, and what that meant. He let Jane’s hand slip behind his head.

Jane pulled him forward into a kiss.

Kissing Tavish was like stepping on ice. At first, you gently press your foot against the puddle until you can feel the cold through your boot. But then you crush down, and you sink in all the way, sending shocks and cracks and fractures of pleasure running all throughout. The fractures made Jane shake, but in ways so different that the anxiety he was used to. This was good, so perfect. Tavish’s lips were warm and yielding under Jane’s, if chapped and a bit salty.

He thought of that silent night, when they smoked their cigars and this strange boy had asked to run away with him. He’d said yes. And now he was saying yes again.

Tavish slid off his wicker chair and sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around Jane so gently he thought he might start shaking from that instead. The feeling of Tavish kissing him back was better than he ever could have imagined.

His hand slid upwards, moving into the Demoman’s curls. He broke the kiss long enough to whisper against Tavish’s lips.

“Tavish, I think I love you.”

“Yeah,” Tavish said, smile detectable against the side of Jane’s cheek. “I figured.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, critiques and constructive criticism are always welcome on any of my fics!


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